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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24072295">So Now, It Looks Like (You're Too Precious)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basic_instinct40/pseuds/Basic_instinct40'>Basic_instinct40</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>If I Live Too Long I'm Afraid I'll Die [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Amputee Bucky Barnes, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Dirty Talk, Dom Steve Rogers, Face Slapping, Gallows Humor, Hand Jobs, Identity Issues, Identity Porn, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Past Rape/Non-con, Sex Games, Slice of Life, Smut, Someone bleeds during sex, Steve said take this slap, Top Steve Rogers, but it’s light I promise, introspective bucky barnes, not as dark as I am making it all seem</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:09:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,048</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24072295</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basic_instinct40/pseuds/Basic_instinct40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky knocks twice on the door before walking over to him, folding down to his knees and resting his chin on the stiffness of Steve’s jeans. “I’ve driven you to the drink.” He nods at the scotch.</p>
<p> The corners of Steve’s mouth lift up in a poor man’s version of a smile. “You are a problem, Buck. What can I say?” </p>
<p>Alt Summary: Bucky takes a walk in the woods and has deep meta about himself.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>If I Live Too Long I'm Afraid I'll Die [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1731574</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>So Now, It Looks Like (You're Too Precious)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>These dreams: what we are when we are no longer ourselves: our surviving. Prophets of our traces, of our ultimate metamorphoses. Self-portraits of our future phantoms. --Helene Cixous</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky hears Steve leave while he brushes his teeth. He keeps his back to the mirror, not in the mood to face himself. He tries not to worry about where Steve is going, or how long he will be gone. Since Bucky moved in with him over a year ago, they’d only spent twelve nights apart when Steve was called in as a backup for missions with Natasha or Sam.</p>
<p>He doesn’t think Steve will be gone all night, but the thought of being home alone makes something unpleasant swim in Bucky’s gut. Without meeting his eyes in the bathroom mirror, he spits in the sink and washes his hand, trying and failing to settle himself while working through his nightly ritual on autopilot. The rituals are soothing and center Bucky to the home that he’s built with Steve. He runs the water scalding hot in the claw foot bathtub, and steps in, the water lapping at his skin, making him itchy, but it’s the way he prefers his baths. Bucky turns off the water and lays back until only his nose is in the air.</p>
<p>Closing his eyes underwater, Bucky attempts to achieve a form more akin to a jellyfish. Last March Steve had taken him to the aquarium for his birthday at Bucky’s request. They’d walked side by side, knuckles brushing against one another, both of them wearing baseball caps and wire-rim glasses. The jellyfish exhibit was Bucky’s favorite, reminding him of the cool safety of Steve’s hug. He thought it wouldn’t be so bad to be a jellyfish, kept down in the dark secure tunnel of their marine cages. He’d taken Steve’s hand in his own for the first time in years, his mind caught up in an elaborate daydream scenario where Steve would construct a Bucky exhibit. Steve could come and examine Bucky’s translucent luminous body, made safe under the glass, right where Steve put him. He’d gotten himself off several times to the idea of Steve’s hard-lined face, twisted up in scrutiny as he observed a jellyfish Bucky.</p>
<p>He doubted that Steve would get him off tonight, but Bucky rubbed himself with a lazy twist of his wrist, remembering the way Steve called him an asshole. It wasn’t the same tone he normally used when he called Bucky a name; it wasn’t meant to make Bucky cum.</p>
<p>“You can sure be an asshole like he was.” Bucky tries to make his voice sound like Steve’s. Deep and full of righteous American Eagle anger. He answers out loud in his own gruff voice, “I’m my own special breed of asshole, Rogers. Fuck me, very much.” The bathwater tickles his face as he smiles. The problem was that Steve wasn’t wrong. Bucky Barnes and the man who now occupies his bag of flesh both share the same asshole tendencies and it ate at him that Steve could have his number that easily. It had been their biggest issue since Bucky strolled up to that monstrosity called Stark Tower and told Steve he would surrender.</p>
<p>Bucky had been putty in the other man’s beefy’s hands even before he surrendered, missing a version of Steve that no longer existed. He learned in the nearly two years from the last time he’d touched Steve that missing someone, yearning for a person, was a powerful inclination. He did everything he could to beat the urge down, to not miss someone he read about from a museum exhibit, but at night the dead boy’s memories resurfaced after laying dormant for so long in cryo. These memories fed the Asset intel on his failed mission and drove Bucky insane with emotions he couldn’t put a name on. He worked to undo everything Hydra had forced into him, and the two years he spent away weren’t just about evading Steve. Bucky spent every hour of his newfound freedom erasing each piece of implanted code, wiping away triggers, and restoring new programming, until he could stop feeling like the hand of Hydra. He’d lost days to the pain of removing the Asset as the primary personality, but he was successful, at least by his own standards. 


The slam of the front door brings him back to the bathtub, and he hears Steve’s careful footsteps throughout the house. Whatever ugly tightness inside of Bucky’s stomach uncoils, and he sits up, grabbing his loofah and the body wash. He listens to Steve move through the house as he bathes, feeling a sense of comfort that he hadn’t felt all day. They weren’t on speaking terms, but they were both under the same roof and if he hoped for the best for the first time in 70 years, maybe it would make it all mean something.</p>
<p>Then again, it could all mean nothing and still end up okay. Bucky snorts, rinses the soap off his body and pulls the plug out of the drain. He grabs a towel, drying himself off, and with a well practiced motion, wraps the blue towel around his waist. He pulls on one of his favorite sleeping shirts, one made of soft white cotton that displays a golden retriever on the front. The dog is surrounded by yellow sunflowers and it holds one earnest paw up as if waving. Bucky found the shirt while in Texas at a flea market, the dog’s smile reminding him of Steve. He never mentions this to him, but Bucky figures he knows, grinning extra wide whenever he sees Bucky wearing it. He finishes getting dressed, combing through his wet hair with jerky nervous movements. Bucky has to face Steve eventually, and preferably soon, since he hasn’t finished with his nightly routine. Counting to fifty in his head, he tells himself to quit being a dick and steps out of the bathroom in search of Steve. Bucky finds him in what was supposed to be an office, but the room held more plants and dollar store books than office work. Steve is sitting in a wingback armchair, his jacket finally off and gripping a glass of scotch.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky knocks twice on the door before walking over to him, folding down to his knees and resting his chin on the stiffness of Steve’s jeans. “I’ve driven you to the drink.” He nods at the scotch.<br/>
The corners of Steve’s mouth lift up in a poor man’s version of a smile. “You are a problem, Buck. What can I say?”</p>
<p>Bucky knows it’s a joke, but the comment feels like ragged nails across his face and not the fun kind. He bows his head, kissing at Steve’s jeans. The starch Bucky uses to iron their clothes smells of artificial lemons, and it clings to him. “I’m sorry that I worried you today.”  

Bucky keeps his face pressed into Steve’s thigh while he talks, his spine burning from the unnatural angle that he holds his head, but he finds solace in the uncomfortable position. Making Steve worry about him wasn’t the point of his visit with Sam, and he doesn’t want to turn a well meaning gesture into something cruel. Steve sits the glass by his feet and pulls at Bucky’s loose hair until his bones pop and crunch with a satisfying ache. He blinks up into the blue of Steve’s eyes and sighs deeply when he cradles Bucky’s throat in a firm embrace.

“I don’t think today was all about me, but I wished we could have talked about things before it got to this point,” Steve says. He leans down to kiss Bucky, a solid press of his mouth that means, “I’m sorry too.”</p>
<p><br/>
Bucky takes the apology kiss for what it is, not pushing at Steve to use his words or do better. Who was he to critique anyone’s apology? He moves his face away and leans his forehead into Steve’s who starts massaging Bucky’s neck. He wants to stay, but he has one last thing to do before he can go to bed. Standing up, he lightly slaps Steve in the face, just beneath his cheekbone.</p>
<p><br/>
“I’m going for a walk, but I’ll be back.” It’s the same thing he tells Steve every night before he heads out into the woods.<br/>
Steve replies the same way he always does, “I’ll be here waiting.”</p>
<p><br/>
**********************************************************************<br/>
Their home sits on thirty acres of land that includes a small lake and various families of woodland animals. Steve bought the land under an assumed name a week after Bucky pulled him out of the Potomac. He brought Bucky to the termite infested two-story home three days after he let Tony Stark remove his arm. When they stepped out of the car after driving for what seemed like hours in rural Pennsylvania, Bucky could tell that Steve was proud of the purchase. He stood in front of Bucky with his hands on his hips, waiting for his verdict.<br/>
Bucky took in a yard overrun with weeds, and a roof that needed to be replaced. “It’s yellow,” he said, dragging his eyes away from the broken window panes. “You bought a yellow house, Steve.”</p>
<p><br/>
Steve had rubbed the back of his neck, a blush creeping down his cheeks that had nothing to do with the dry January wind. “The realtor listed the color as ‘buttercup’. He gave Bucky a sheepish grin. “I think it’s nice.”</p>
<p><br/>
Bucky snorted. “Okay, sure. It’s nice. Now show me the rest.”</p>
<p>He and Steve were city people, and the woods overwhelmed them at first. Bucky could remember running naked from something or someone in the Siberian forest, but he wouldn’t call that experience with nature. His nightly walks started out as an extra security measure and then a way to get out of the house. The unknown depths of the woods frighten him, but it also makes Bucky determined to learn its secrets. Lighting a cigarette he begins up the familiar path, letting smoke drift out into the night sky.<br/>
By the rules of espionage he was seriously fucking up, alerting anyone who could be hiding in wait for him. But Bucky didn’t live by the rules of espionage anymore, he lived by his and Steve's rules. He could take a nightly walk and smoke in the woods if he pleased. Plus, he always kept a grenade handy if there was anyone foolish enough to try to get the jump on him. Bucky inhales on the cigarette, his one a day smoke, and walks deeper into the woods, doing his best to discard the melancholy he built up since his fight with Steve.</p>
<p>
  <em>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve had said.</em>
</p>
<p><br/>
“Could be because you don’t listen to me,” Bucky said aloud to the trees.</p>
<p><br/>
<em>“I can’t own you,” Steve said.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky wasn’t asking to be owned, not in the way Steve meant. As usual, Steve’s black and white thinking impeded what Bucky meant. But then what did Bucky mean? What did he want from Steve? The question was as complex as it was simple. The grey area of what he did and didn’t want was a mystery to himself, one that he wasn’t too particularly interested in solving. Yet for Steve, Bucky’s wants were an obsession that he dedicated himself to full time.</p>
<p><br/>
“I want you to have your own autonomy,” Steve told him after a therapy session one day.</p>
<p><br/>
Bucky refused to go to therapy. He didn’t need a child with an overpriced degree to tell Bucky he was fucked up, but one day, with lots of time and effort, he could learn to love himself. He knew he didn’t want that. Steve went to see his therapist once a month in the city and it seemed to give him peace. But Steve always came back from the sessions with ideas and thought experiments he wanted to try out on Bucky.</p>
<p><br/>
“Yeah, but it kind of cancels out my autonomy if I’m only working on it for you,” Bucky fired back at him. That had shut Steve up for nearly a day.</p>
<p><br/>
Bucky shakes his head at the memory and brings the cigarette to his lips to finish it. He stomps the cherry out, but pockets the filter before continuing his walk. While Bucky’s wants were a mystery to them both, Steve’s wants and needs were never hidden. Even when he was a sickly runt in hand-me-down pants, he was vocal about what type of person he was and God help anyone who tried to challenge him. It wasn’t that Steve couldn’t or wouldn’t change, he just wouldn’t do it to appease anyone else. The dead Brooklyn boy found it annoying romantic even when he was a child.</p>
<p><br/>
Bucky just found it annoying.</p>
<p><br/>
He felt that unwavering in your convictions set you up for limited thinking, limited thinking created blind spots, and having blind spots was how the enemy got to you. If you allowed yourself to be ever changing, to have no enemies, no allies, no autonomy, then there wasn’t any limit to what you could do or be. You were the perfect weapon. When Bucky tried to explain this way of thinking to Steve one night, laying next to each other in bed, he frowned at him with unblinking eyes until Bucky asked him to say something.</p>
<p><br/>
“You aren’t going to like it.” Steve said.</p>
<p><br/>
Bucky scoffed, “I don’t like half the shit you let fall out of your cake hole."</p>
<p><br/>
Steve had taken an uneasy breath before saying, “You sound like him. Like Pierce.”</p>
<p><br/>
Bucky’s face must have done something horrible, because Steve lifted himself up on one elbow and reached for him. “Hey,” he began to say.</p>
<p><br/>
Bucky was quicker, getting up and out of bed “I guess that was a pretty wonderful impression of Pierce. The Asset was with him for nearly twenty years.” He ignored the way Steve’s face crumbled. “I’m going to sleep in my room tonight.”</p>
<p><br/>
Bucky brings his mind back to the present, halfway done with the lap around the house. He feels severed from the body and knows that if he went home this way Steve would stay up all night thinking he was failing Bucky. Breaking out into a run, Bucky pushes himself to feel the control he had over the body. This voiceless disembodied state could come on swiftly and overwhelm him enough to miss being the Asset. Why would anyone choose to feel these emotions? Was this part of having that personal autonomy that Steve so desperately wanted for him? Is this the self control that he was supposed to be seeking, because Bucky doesn’t feel in control. He doesn’t feel in control of these shipwrecks of emotions, and he shouldn’t be forced to sink down to the bottom of the ocean with them. Why should he have to suffer for things that others did to him? Plenty of Hydra assholes were dead, killed by his own hands even, but what peace could Bucky have now? He was a life-size ghost wandering the forest in a borrowed body and haunting a borrowed life. Haunting Steve’s life. There was no peace to be found here. Bucky runs deeper into the night, wishing he had someone to fight with, and adds that to the list of things never to tell Steve about.</p>
<p><br/>
The list kept getting longer.</p>
<p>He runs all the way home, throwing his cigarette butt into the trash, and heads to the bathroom to wash his hands. He faces himself in the mirror now, but the question of what he was seeing remained an enigma. Bucky brushes his teeth again and hopes that Steve is still awake. His mind was spiraling and the only way he knew how to get even was a good kick in the head.</p>
<p><br/>
**************************************************************************************************<br/>
The lights are off in Steve’s room, but he wasn’t snoring, which means he’s awake. Bucky hardly slept in his own room, which he uses for weapons storage and to keep his plumb bob collection. When they first started sleeping together Steve owned a king-size mattress that could withstand the rough housing of two super soldiers. It was comfortable, but Bucky could never fall asleep on it. He would lay awake, Steve wrapped around him like an octopus, until Bucky untangled himself and slept on the couch or in the hallway closet. Steve was forever determined to be the great fixer of everything that troubled Bucky, researching different beds until he settled on a style that worked for them both. Their bed is smaller, now a full size, but the bottom mattress rolled out from underneath the top one. “It’s like a sidecar motorcycle,” Steve explained to a horror stricken Bucky. He’d taken an entire day to assemble the bed frame without using the instructions, and refusing Bucky’s help. 

When Steve was done, he pulled the other mattress out and told Bucky “You’ll sleep here.” With his combined effort Steve put into acquiring and building a sleeping space for him and the straightforward demand, Bucky slept through the night more often than night.</p>
<p><br/>
He slinks down to his mattress now, getting on his knees and searches for Steve’s hand in the dark. “Did you have a pleasant walk?” Steve asks him.</p>
<p><br/>
Bucky answers him not with words, but by placing Steve’s knuckles in his mouth, gnawing on them with his canines.</p>
<p><br/>
“Mmm mm,” Steve lets out a tiny satisfied murmur. “Did you lose your voice in the woods?”</p>
<p><br/>
He sticks Steve’s middle fingers into his mouth, taking it between his teeth and bites down on it.</p>
<p><br/>
“Ouch, shit.” Steve yanks his finger from Bucky’s mouth and Bucky lets him, blinking up innocently when Steve switches on the bedside lamp.</p>
<p><br/>
“Do you want something from me?” Steve wears a blue and white striped sleep shirt. He crouches over Bucky, sticking his enormous nose into his space. “If you do, you need to use your words or did you go feral in the woods?</p>
<p><br/>
Bucky squints up at him, eyes going cross with how close Steve is and calculates how best to play this out. Steve hasn’t fucked with him in over a week and Bucky is desperate for it, but he needs it to be his way. He stays silent, bumping his nose into Steve’s face. Bucky can be a feral thing.</p>
<p><br/>
Steve makes a sigh like he’s being inconvenienced, which means he’s game. “I’m surprised you found your way home without me,” Steve says, shaking his head with disappointment. “Come on, you feral thing,” he pats the bed. “Up here.”</p>
<p><br/>
Bucky scrambles to comply, leaping into Steve’s lap. “Oof,” Steve groans at the sudden weight, pushing Bucky off. The push isn’t callous, but it’s far from tender. “No, dummy. I patted the bed, not my lap.” Steve raps his knuckles against the side of Bucky’s temple. “Did you also lose your common sense when you were out there?”</p>
<p><br/>
Bucky sticks his bottom lip out, letting out a whine to show Steve how much he loves him. “Hey, now,” Steve warns. He gets up from under the blankets and grabs Bucky by his arm. “None of that. I haven’t even hit you yet.” Bucky’s breaths come out low, ragged. He leans over to kiss Steve’s thumb as it delves painfully into his residual limb.</p>
<p><br/>
Steve jerks Bucky’s body once, turning him into his own personal bobblehead. He laughs when Bucky’s chin bonks into his chest. “Sorry,” he lies. “I thought you were going to bite my hand off.” Steve peels off Bucky’s clothes, clicking his tongue when he sees that Bucky isn’t wearing underwear. “Feral insignificant fuck thing, no house training.” He keeps his own clothes on, shrugging at Bucky. “Guess I have to take responsibility for you, huh?”</p>
<p><br/>
Bucky makes a face at him that can only be read as, “Guess you do, but that’s not my problem.” Steve chuckles and sits back, pulling his pajama pants low enough to get his dick out. Bucky appreciates that it’s already hard and leaking. He likes it when Steve does all the work. “Let me show you how we properly act in this home.” Steve reaches over to the night stand pulling out lube.“Come here you feral boy.” Bucky slides over, feeling idiotic in his naked state. He thinks that Steve wants him to jack him off while he calls Bucky names, a favorite pastime of theirs, but Steve has already coated his own fist in lube, tugging at himself while he stares Bucky down.</p>
<p><br/>
“Put the heel of your palm in my mouth,” he demands. Bucky raises his hand to Steve’s face. His eyes are clouded over and he studies Bucky’s face before speaking. “Don’t break eye contact and I want to hear you,” he instructs. Bucky doesn’t respond, because he doesn’t have to, he knows his orders. When Steve tears his teeth into Bucky’s flesh, he doesn’t bother to ease into it. He commits to the action, to the violence. Bucky in turn commits to keeping eye contact, and he ignores the high pitched ringing that sounds throughout the room. It’s not until Steve releases him that it dawns on Bucky that it’s him who is making the noise.</p>
<p><br/>
Steve rewards him with a bloody smile. “Okay. Give me your hand.” Bucky does so without question, he doesn’t care if Steve wants to bite it off. It’s Steve’s hand to do whatever he wants. Bucky is the vessel, he is the prop to get Steve off, he doesn’t have to worry about anything anymore because Steve worries for him. The swollen bloody hand that is already on its way to healing gets covered in lube, and Steve uses his free arms to pull Bucky closer, fucking into the injury. Bucky knows he’s close from the way Steve locks his arms around him, granting him purpose and sensation. Giving Bucky a place to rest his mind.</p>
<p><br/>
“Tell me?” He asks into Steve’s slack mouth.</p>
<p><br/>
Steve knows what he means, although he doesn’t understand why he wants him to say it, Bucky knows he will do this for him. Steve would do far worse. “You’re mine,” he tells Bucky. “You’re my stupid little mindless thing and I’ll never let you go.” He finishes on Bucky’s stomach, hot, wet and pulsing. It feels like something, in a great void of nothing, and that’s enough to get Bucky off in his own way. His thoughts could get muddled during sex, and past images of what Hydra did to him and what they made him do to others would slip in when he least expected. The Asset's intrusive memories would override the present, causing Bucky to lose time. He needed a stronger personality to take control, to tether him to the body, so he wouldn’t fall away.<br/>
Bucky tried to explain this line of reasoning to Steve the first couple of times they played this game, asking to be hurt, and requesting to be referred to as a thing. Being a non-person, a thing, wasn’t a problem for Bucky. Things could be loved and treasured. People loved their possessions, sometimes more than they loved other humans. The problem, Bucky discovered, was if you were a thing that was never loved by their owner. It wasn’t that Bucky ever expected or wanted love in those seventy years they held him captive. He knew that he was with the bad guys, he understood that he was lost with no hope of being found, but all the same, you treat your things badly for too long eventually they were going to break. The people who owned Bucky always found another way to break him.</p>
<p><br/>
Steve’s voice comes out loud and clear next to him, dragging him out of his head. “What are you thinking about? You’re usually asleep by now.”</p>
<p>“Just how I was glad to be a helping hand,” Bucky blurts.</p>
<p>Steve groans at his awful joke, nudging at his stomach. “Must not have done my job right if you can string a sentence together.”</p>
<p>Bucky drapes a naked leg over Steve’s covered one. He kisses his cheek, then his eyelashes. “Nah, you did alright. I’m just tough to put down.”</p>
<p>“You can say that again.” Steve chuckles, but he gives Bucky’s face the once over knowing better than to ask if he was okay. “Another bath?” he asks instead.</p>
<p>Bucky smiles, nodding once. He could handle that.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The bed Steve and Bucky get is called a trundle bed, and I had one when I was a child. Please let me know if i should consider any other tags. Thank you to the wonderful Tori, my forever Camp NaNoWrimo mom. She beta read this and this story would be nothing without her or my wonderful writing discord.  The concept of Bucky hiding his identity or viewing himself as a "thing" is not my original thought. Identity porn has been around since Lex Luther/Clark Kent/Superman. The story that awoke my third eye in the Steve x Bucky world is the beautiful series Eat Rotten Fruit by birdbrains. It is perhaps one of my favorite stories of all time. I hold that fic precious to my soul and everyone should go read it. I whole-heartedly derive inspiration from that universe. The writer just gets it, man. Anyways, enough of my rambles.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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